Dismissed
by Runaway Wordette
Summary: "He'd called her over, yes, but wouldn't she have come regardless? No, he thought after another moment of gazing into the unresponsive eyes, she wouldn't have. The old Vanessa might have, with the glittering eyes and the shiny armor, but this one with the long cuts littering her body and the gleaming silver lance wouldn't have."


**Ah. This is kind of dark. In this story, Innes already knows Vanessa pretty well before the war. I find it hard to believe that when they cross paths again, Vanessa is the same person. I feel like she is so happy and innocent despite her determination, that something must have happened along the way so she could cope.**

**Hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem or its awesome characters.**

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He watched her, the slender form dismounting her saddle. Red sand seemed to swarm around her and sun blinded him when it glanced off her armor. It was dented, scraped, and dull. She used to take care of her armor so carefully, so lovingly, and now it seemed as if she'd merely given up.

Her lance tip was still bloodied, and multiple slashes ran along her torso and arms. The crimson liquid that matched the color of the sand seemed to drip tantalizingly slowly as she walked. She took no notice of her wounds, and merely continued to walk towards him.

She was a warrior, he thought. Incredible is how he would have described her swooping and feathered lighting fighting style. The grace and fluidity that she moved with was astounding. He remembered when she used to train, how it was all quick lunges and short jabs. She'd developed her own style, apparently. One that would have shocked her old instructors and shamed the old her. The new style was unorthodox, daring, and powerful, just like the new her.

She stopped in from of him, and he searched the face for a semblance of the young, and inexperienced pegasus knight. The high cheekbones remained, only with blood smeared across them. Her small nose was there, with the delicate point upwards. That's all he could recognize. The hard line of her mouth was solid and unwavering, as if she'd never smiled before. Her eyes were cold and distant. They had used to sparkle and glitter like the emerald gems in his mother's old crown. They were detached, no emotion lying hidden in their depths. He thought that she'd be suffering, and drowning in guilt. At one point, she probably had been. But now she'd progressed farther from that state and farther down the path of a warrior.

"Vanessa."

His voice croaked out, unfamiliar to his ears. The name didn't match the cold face staring at him.

"Milord."

Nor did the empty and listless voice match the happy picture from so long ago that he'd kept painted in his mind.

He could only stare, waiting for himself to wake up from this nightmare, for the empty husk to reanimate and become once again the determined and bubbly girl he'd come to know before the damned war began.

"You called, Milord."

Her emotionless voice seemed to slice his skin. He'd called her over, yes, but wouldn't she have come regardless? No, he thought after another moment of gazing into the unresponsive eyes, she wouldn't have. The old Vanessa might have, with the glittering eyes and the shiny armor, but this one with the long cuts littering her body and the gleaming silver lance wouldn't have.

He turned and gazed out across the stretching dunes of red. The sky was smoky from the mages' fires and thunders and the air was still moist and humid from the battle heat.

"You're a falcoknight."

The prickling silence was a confirmation and he turned back to face her.

"I've never seen a pegasus knight venture so far into enemy lines alone before. I thought the beast's delicacy prevented it."

She remained silent, and stared with the same unwavering expression. He wasn't telling her anything new. She was one of the most skilled warriors in the combined army now, or at least within the top four. She no longer needed his confirmation.

"Well?"

He wanted her to say something, anything. He wanted some sign that this was really the same girl, and not a perfect version of an icy warrior. He wanted her happy, cheerful voice and her dry remarks. He wanted her full-lipped smile, and loud laugh. He wanted the embarrassed flush on her cheeks when she misspoke and the nervous way she used to twirl her wispy hair around her small fingers. He wanted Vanessa.

"I've adapted, Milord."

The words slapped him in the face and he stumbled back a bit. She'd adapted. She'd adapted to the constant killing, the constant screaming, and the constant guilt. She'd adapted to the battle hysteria, and the spot as one of the most skilled soldiers in the army. She'd adapted to her place, and Innes wondered if the army could have made it as far as it did without her twirling lance and crusades into the swirling masses of crimson enemy soldiers.

He stared into the unfamiliar face, searching once again for what seemed like the millionth time for any sign.

"Am I dismissed?"

His throat ran dry, but his own emotionless words emerged regardless.

"Dismissed, soldier."

And she turned and walked away.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A mist of blood filled the air with the breath of screams and shrieks. The squelching of blood and metal was like some sick song repeating as the battle raged on. Beasts and men, all mixed together charged, letting out savage cries.

_Thwip. Thwip. Thwip._

I fired arrow after arrow into the mass. Rot and blood burst forth after each impact. Heart. Temple. Forehead. All the vital points were carefully aimed at and destroyed with a thin wooden shaft tipped silver. It was mindless; the repetition of the movement almost scared me. It was so silly and easy to destroy a life with a small piece of wood.

As the battle stretched on, my limbs began to tire. The fingers notching the arrows had blistered and they had begun to bleed. My arms burnt with a dull ache from the strain of pulling back the taut string. Yet still, the dark chaos surrounded me like a cloak.

"Innes!"

Ephraim's panicked shout sent me spinning. I whirled around, natural impulse taking over. It was slow motion, as I watched the arc of a glistening sword. It moved as if moving through mud at a ridiculously slow pace, though my limbs refused to respond to move me away from the danger. The tip came closer and closer in the downwards slash, and I refused the impulse to look at the killer lest it pierce me when I was unprepared. But how could I prepare? How could I ever be ready for it to slice my neck? How could I prepare to di-

Then she was there. Her hair was out of its long plait, swirling around her. I couldn't see her face, only her back as she slammed into me, pushing the both of us back. Time sped up and sound that I hadn't realized was gone came back. Everything blurred, the lighting fast sword tip, her outspread arms that were thrown out wide in front of me in protection, and the smell of sunlight I hadn't smelled since when she had given me one last tight hug when I left for the battle front, not to know that she too would be going soon as well. The sound of ripping, tearing flesh that I thought I had become so desensitized to made my heart stutter in its frenzied beating.

And she fell, crumpling like a crushed flower to the bloody and dirty ground. I fell to my knees beside her and ignored the moaning sound of the swordsman that had attacked me being killed by one of our own comrades. I turned her over by her slender shoulders and cleared the now bloody hair out of her face.

"Milord…"

The croaking voice made me stiffen while I stared into her eyes. They were still cold and distant. They were still far away and unreachable, but now they were laughing. It was an ironic laugh and a painful one, as if laughing at the pathetic state she had been put in.

"Vanessa…"

But it still wasn't Vanessa. Her eyes may have been laughing, but it wasn't Vanessa. And I could tell that she knew it as well, with the undercurrent of regret and longing that laid deep, deep down. She knew she was gone, but she didn't know how to find herself, and it was far too late to try.

"It's not…"

The frail voice echoed my thoughts as I continued to stare at her unfamiliar eyes, as her breathing became more and more ragged.

"It's not… and we both know it…."

I only stayed silent, not sobbing, not tearing at my hair, merely watching.

"There… was a little trace of her left… She sent me down her to help you…. Haaa…. Look where that's put me now…."

I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut tight before I opened them again to the stranger's sadistic face.

"I miss her… too…"

The brilliant green eyes flickered closed and opened slowly, more tired than before.

"Please...Forgive me..."

Then the eyes faded, becoming glassy and distant, going somewhere I couldn't follow.

I stared at the face, silently taking the features in. The lips were curved up, not in the old bright smile, but a sad half-attempt at one that made my chest hurt. Her golden skin was quickly fading to an icy pallor and I could almost sense the warmth fading. I stroked my fingers along her jaw line, staring at the eyes. They were the most beautiful color I'd ever seen. So bright, piercing, and pure, I remember how they sparked and glowed. Now that they were blank, I could almost pretend that she was just daydreaming. That perhaps, she was just resting during one of her breaks at training and that they had never had the pained, ironic look.

I reached my steady hands out and rested my fingers on the soft pads of her eye lids for an instant. I stared hard, burning an imprint of the color, the shape, the lashes of her eyes into my mind that I'd never forget. Then, I gently shut them.

Now, she really did look as if she could be sleeping. As if some pointless war hadn't stolen her identity and left her empty, cold, and eventually dead.

I pushed myself up to my feet, not wanting to tear my eyes away from the small form among all the dirt and blood with the long slash down the stomach. I couldn't stay any longer.

I turned on my heel, snatching my bow off the ground from where I had dropped it in the heat of the moment. I began to walk away, quickly as I could through the corpses that littered the ground, with a carefully expressionless face.

I wasn't grieving. I'd grieved long ago for the girl I'd lost. She'd already been dead.


End file.
